


Lay Like Broccoli

by blacktofade



Series: Vivian Ward: Eat Your Heart Out [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Frottage, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade/pseuds/blacktofade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Tony sells his body some more and spends his free time annoying Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Like Broccoli

**Author's Note:**

> Writing a short third fic for this series, solely for Tony seducing Steve while in his stockings and heels is a terrible idea, Y/N? Fulfils the 'Frottage' square of [THIS](http://shockselectric.livejournal.com/41514.html) Steve/Tony kink bingo card.

Bucky seems disappointed when Steve returns the money.

“You were meant to blow off steam,” he says, tucking the envelope into his jacket and frowning. “Does that mean I have to get you another birthday present?”

“Not if it’s going to be anything like the first.”

“I’m sure Tony has a friend.” Steve actually blushes, feels it spreading across his face as he clears his throat and busies himself with picking the onion out of his sandwich and tossing it onto Bucky’s plate. Bucky grabs it and eats it raw with a grin. “You definitely thought about it though.”

Steve doesn’t deign it with an answer, mostly because Bucky’s right; he doesn’t need to know that Steve did more than think about it.

“What did you do with him then?”

Steve shrugs and takes a bite of his food, chewing slowly and swallowing before answering.

“We watched TV and ate pizza. Also, he did my dishes.”

“Are you serious? And he _still_ gave you the money back? If I were him, I’d have charged you double for being a massive bore.”

“He was nice.”

“Just not nice enough for you to bump uglies with.”

Steve makes a face at Bucky’s crassness and points a French fry at him.

“Eat your lunch before it goes cold.”

“Yes, Dad,” Bucky teases and lasts all of thirty seconds in silence before Steve can see him twitching with the need to speak. He glares, daring him to say something and Bucky bites his lip around a grin. “Is that what he called you too?” he says, laughing before he’s even finished and Steve sighs and reaches for his water.

“Why do I even put up with you?”

*

It wasn’t as if they had anything. It was just a one night stand. And the date was just...Steve didn’t actually know what it was. Maybe this time Tony expected him to pay. He didn’t even know if he could afford it if he did. He spends Friday night going through his bank statements, eventually deciding that he _does_ have enough, but he’ll have to buy a few less groceries until the next payday. He ends up banging his forehead on the kitchen table in frustration and cursing Tony for even existing.

Saturday arrives leaving a strange, uneasy feeling in his stomach, which he refuses to believe is nerves because if it were he would have to admit that Tony actually affects him. He showers in the late afternoon and then showers again half an hour before Tony’s meant to arrive because he’s sweating so much. After that, he paces, cleans his already immaculate apartment, distractedly tries to watch an episode of Wheel of Fortune, and ends up pacing again.

Seven o’clock rolls around and every noise in the hallway outside makes him stare expectantly at the door. Seven fifteen comes and goes and Steve begins playing with his phone, double checking the date and time of the date info stored in the calendar, but it’s definitely the right day. At seven thirty, Steve starts wondering if it’s all been a joke and he’s been played monumentally. Seven forty-five finds him biting at his thumb nail and at eight o’clock he’s changing into an old t-shirt that’s more comfortable than the crisp button up he’d originally chosen, just in case they’d gone anywhere a little fancier than the Mexican cantina three blocks down, where every server knows his name and order by heart. At eight fifteen, he’s out the door on the way to said cantina, needing to eat because he hadn’t planned on making dinner and, thus, has no food.

It’s a cool night out, but the restaurant is warm and inviting and it helps soothe his stinging pride for a little while. The food is delicious and the service amiable, but he can’t stop from checking his phone every few minutes, just in case there’s a message from Tony. It remains silent and by nine o’clock he’s full and satisfied, but no closer to knowing the truth. He finishes his soda, pays the check, and wishes the waitress a good night before leaving.

It’s even colder now and his breath fogs as he tugs the collar of his coat up and strolls slowly down the street. People pass him, dressed up for a night out, smiling and laughing and far happier than Steve feels after being stood up by a hooker. He slips his hands into his pockets and keeps his head down, blending into the background and avoiding the start of New York’s nightlife.

He’s only a block away from his apartment when he hears heavy footsteps behind, as though someone’s running towards him, and he has the brief thought that he’s about to get mugged before a hand catches his elbow and halts him.

“Steve!”

Even out of breath and gasping for air, he’d recognise that voice.

“Tony?” He turns to face him, taking in the sweat on his brow as though he’s been running for some time. “What are you doing here?”

Tony places his hands on his knees and bends over, drawing in ragged breaths and Steve thinks about putting his hand on his back to help steady him, but doesn’t move a muscle.

“I’m sorry,” he says, straightening back up to meet Steve’s gaze. “I was working overtime and seven o’clock kind of snuck up on me. I tried to call, but my battery died before it could go through.”

Steve pictures Tony with another man’s cock jammed down his throat and he has to look anywhere except Tony’s face.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know you could earn overtime.”

Tony looks confused for a moment before it seems to register.

“Not _that_ job,” he says, sounding faintly exasperated.

“Sorry, I didn’t – ”

“I’m not just a whore,” Tony says and a man walking the other direction shoots him a funny look as he passes. “I work at a local community college, helping out the engineering students. They have a midterm coming up, so I’ve been putting in extra hours at the lab.”

This time it’s Steve’s turn to frown in confusion, because it’s the last thing he expects to come out of Tony’s mouth.

“They _let_ you teach?”

“I’m an escort, not a paedophile, Steve. Just because people pay to have sex with me doesn’t mean I have to be on some kind of registry.”

“Jesus,” Steve says, putting his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Tony makes a faint noise that seems to say he’s not at all impressed, but he’s willing it overlook it for now.

“C’mon,” Tony says, tugging at Steve’s arm and he must know the neighbourhood well because he takes the same shortcut Steve usually does to get to the apartment block. Steve thinks about apologising again in the silence of the elevator ride up, but when he glances across, Tony is already staring at him, his lips pursed, and Steve doesn’t know him well enough to tell if it’s anger or thoughtfulness. He keeps quiet and lets Tony trail after him as he makes his way to the end of the hallway and lets himself into his apartment. He tosses his keys into a bowl on the side table and turns to find Tony shutting and locking the door.

“You should always use the deadbolt,” he explains, tapping the wood lightly. “These things are far too easy to pick otherwise.”

Steve doesn’t like to think that he’s speaking from experience.

“Do you mind?” Tony asks, pointing in the direction of the kitchen and Steve assumes he means to get a drink and nods quickly.

“Sure. Help yourself.”

Instead of grabbing a glass from the drying rack, Tony begins searching through his cupboards until he finds a bag of bread and tosses it onto the countertop. After rooting a little while more, with Steve looking on with his mouth slightly open, Tony locates a knife and the raspberry jam from the door of the fridge, and proceeds to make himself a sandwich. Licking sticky jam off his fingers, Tony finally glances up.

“Sorry, did you want one? I figured you’d already eaten.”

Steve blinks and shakes his head mutely, not trusting his voice. Quickly, Tony places everything back in its original place and washes the knife. With a mouthful of crust, he slips past Steve and throws himself down onto the couch.

“God, it’s been a long day,” he complains and all Steve can do is stare because he’s never met anyone like Tony before.

He doesn’t bother trying to rebuke Tony when he puts his feet up on the coffee table, just sits numbly next to him, feeling a little as though a whirlwind has blown straight through his home, leaving him to pick up the pieces.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he responds finally and Tony shoots him a quick look before reaching for the remote and switching on the telly. There isn’t any Jeopardy, but Tony flicks through the channels before finally settling on some sort of late night chat show. “Is this what you’re always like?” he can’t help but ask and Tony grins, crumbs in the corner of his mouth.

“Only for you, because I know you love it.”

“I definitely love how both times you’ve been in my house you’ve stolen my food and taken over my television.”

“You said to help myself!” Tony argues.

“I thought you wanted a glass of water, not half of my kitchen!”

Tony stares at him and takes another bite of his sandwich, as though to make some sort of point.

“It’s two bits of bread and some jelly, Steve,” he says, talking with his mouth full and Steve’s more disgusted than angry. “The money I left last time should cover it.”

“I gave it back to Bucky,” he replies, willing the blush away, because talking about the last time only makes him picture Tony with his eyes shut in the middle of coming around Steve’s cock.

“Your loss then,” he says with a shrug and stuffs more of the sandwich into his mouth. Steve pulls a face of mixed revulsion and disbelief because he didn’t even know anyone could put that much food in their mouth at once. Though, to be fair, Tony had definitely shown his talents with his head between Steve’s thighs the week before. He quickly looks back at the TV, needing something to take his mind off it.

His thoughts wander instead to an image of Tony helping college students and he can’t help but shoot a sideways glance at him, wondering what’s going on inside his head. He’s the most complicated man Steve has ever met.

“Where did you go to school?” he blurts out before he can stop himself and Tony looks surprised for just a second before he smiles in self-satisfaction and Steve knows the answer isn’t going to be what he expects.

“MIT,” Tony says and Steve was one hundred percent right.

“What?”

“The Massachusetts Instit – ”

“I know what it stands for, Tony.”

“You just don’t believe that I went there? I probably have my old ID somewhere at home; I can bring it to our next date.”

Steve isn’t even going to bother going there.

“What was it like?”

Tony shrugs.

“Okay, I guess.”

“What year did you graduate?”

“A woman never tells her age,” Tony jokes.

“But you _did_ graduate?”

Tony doesn’t reply, just sucks at his fingers, getting the last remaining jelly off and Steve tries not to stare. After a moment’s pause, Tony finally speaks.

“Would it make you feel better if I hadn’t? How can a graduate of MIT become a hooker?”

“I never said that.”

“It’s less like the movies than you might think. I don’t have a pimp, I’m my own boss, and my clients happen to go through a rigorous background check before even laying a finger on me.”

Steve swallows.

“Even me?”

Tony leans forward and smirks.

“Oh, the dirt I have on you, Rogers. It would make a grown man cry.”

Steve knows it’s a blatant lie because his record is completely clean; he’s never even had a parking ticket. 

“So, one day you decided to just try it?”

“What is this; twenty questions? No, I knew it’s what I wanted to do, so I went for it. Just like you knew you wanted to get stuck in a dead end office job with lousy pay. I knew I wanted to have sex on a regular basis and get paid good money for it.”

Steve narrows his eyes at the insult.

“Why not just find a rich partner?”

Tony makes a face of horror, but doesn’t look at all offended.

“That’s so boring. Finding one person and never getting to do anything fun? I couldn’t think of anything worse.”

“And you’re trying to date me why?”

“Who said anything about exclusivity?”

Steve frowns.

“That tends to play a factor in dating; the whole ‘no cheating’ concept.”

“It’s not cheating; it’s a job. I don’t want to be in a relationship with any of them. You should think yourself lucky.”

“I’m the chosen one?” Steve remarks dryly and hates that Tony nods and smiles, as though missing the point entirely.

“Like Harry Potter himself.” Steve doesn’t reply, just turns back to the television, briefly catching the faltering of Tony’s grin. After a long silence, Tony clears his throat. “You don’t like that?”

Steve shrugs.

“What can I say; I’m a fan of monogamy.”

“Oh,” Tony says and it’s so quiet he almost misses it.

“Why are we even discussing this?” Steve says, stretching out and relaxing into the cushions. “I never even agreed to date you. These are all hypothetical boundaries if we _were_ going to date.”

Tony huffs as though he has something to say about that, but remains silent. Steve falls into the lull of the television, the gentle glow of the screen in the dimly lit room sending him into a light burrito-coma, which tends to happen after he eats Mexican food. He feels Tony shift beside him and vaguely notices that he disappears from the room for a short minute, but the clunk of a glass on his coffee table lets him know that he just went to get a drink.

“You asleep?” Tony asks, poking his shoulder and Steve grunts.

“Yes.”

“Can I crash here tonight?” Tony asks, sounding far too nonchalant for it to be genuine and Steve wakes up enough to stare at him in disbelief.

“No,” he says, pulling a face. “We both know how that ended last time.”

“I definitely seem to remember you enjoying it.”

“ _No_ , Tony.”

“You’re not going to put out after you’ve already have? You fuck on the first date, but not the second?”

“This _isn’t_ a date,” Steve stresses. “A date involves two parties showing up vaguely on time at a planned destination and then there’s pleasant conversation and maybe drinks and then if everything goes well, another date is set up.”

“Doesn’t that mean that last week was _definitely_ a date? I showed up on time to our appointment and we ate pizza and I asked you out. I’m definitely getting some after our next date, because that’ll be our third one.”

“You’re ridiculous. You’re sleeping on the couch.”

He gets up, walking gently into the arm of the sofa as he misjudges the distance in his tired state and Tony laughs at him quietly. Slowly, he finds the same sheets and pillow he gave to Tony last time and then dumps it all into Tony’s lap to let him sort it out himself. With stretch and a grunt he turns away and heads towards his bedroom.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he says and Tony clicks his tongue at him.

“Yes, _Mom_.”

“Don’t fall asleep with the television on.”

“I’m a big kid now. I can sleep through the night and everything,” Tony retorts.

“Good,” he says around a yawn. “That means I won’t find you in my bed at four in the morning.”

Tony makes a faint choking sound, but if he replies, Steve doesn’t hear, because he shuts the door and clicks the lock into the place, just to be sure.

*

The first thing Steve notices when he wakes is that he’s pleasantly warm, feeling incredibly well-rested. The second thing he notices is that there is definitely someone curled up against his back. He blinks and frees his head from the tangled mess of comforter and pillows before glancing over his shoulder. Tony is still asleep, his face smooth and relaxed, his hair mussed every-which-way. It is in no way endearing.

He shoves his elbow back, catching Tony in the ribs and he snorts awake with jolt, his eyes darting about as though he’s trying to figure out whose bed he’s in; it’s probably something he has to do often.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, his voice still rough from sleep. “I locked that door.”

Tony exhales slowly as he finally seems to realise all is as it should be and he flops down against the mattress.

“I told you those doors were easy to pick.”

He shuts his eyes as though about to fall asleep once more, but Steve nudges him again.

“It’s time for you to leave.”

“It’s Sunday, Steve. Go back to sleep before I smother you.”

He reaches blindly across, managing to smack Steve in the nose lightly before he curls his palm over his mouth, effectively silencing him.

“Sleep time,” he says and Steve will _not_ lower himself to licking his hand. If anything, Tony would probably like it anyway.

He bats Tony’s arm away and glances at the clock that tells him it’s only seven-thirty. He sighs and pushes Tony away, refusing to let him hog Steve’s own bed, but Tony makes a disgruntled noise and nestles back against him.

“It’s cold over there,” he complains, one arm winding its way over Steve’s hip and seeming to lock into place, because no matter how Steve turns it remains firmly where it is, not moving an inch. “You’re a terrible bed partner.”

“You know how to fix that? Don’t climb into my bed.”

“Shh,” Tony mumbles at him, mouth so close to the back of Steve’s neck that he feels the warm brush of his lips.

Steve tells himself he won’t make a habit of it, but he falls silent, tugging the sheet back over his shoulder as he slides one hand under his pillow and shuts his eyes again. With their feet tangled together, Steve gently falls back asleep to the sound of the beginnings of traffic on the street far below and Tony’s soft breathing.

*

When he wakes the next time, it’s just after ten and there’s a note stuck to his shoulder.

> _Steve,_

> _Check your phone._

> _-Tony._

Steve really doesn’t want to. He suspects it’s either missing or on fire.

Surprisingly, when he eventually drags himself out of bed and finds it sitting where he left it charging on the kitchen counter, as per usual, neither of those things is true. He unlocks the screen and is greeted with a picture of Tony posing with Steve’s still-sleeping body, his smile broad, but unmistakeably tired. At the bottom, there’s a small icon that informs him of a new calendar entry and he opens it to find that the upcoming Friday has been listed as _Date nite w/ Tony @ 7pm (no i won’t be late)_.

The phone buzzes in his hand and he almost drops it; the number that comes up on the screen is Tony’s.

“How do you do that?” he answers, foregoing the normal greetings and Tony laughs.

“Do what?”

“Know when I’m near my phone.”

“Well, I installed a few hidden cameras last night.”

Steve looks around suspiciously, because as much as Tony sounds as though he’s joking, he wouldn’t put it past him.

“I take it you’re free on Friday then.”

“And if I’m not?” Steve replies, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulls a carton of juice from the fridge, nudging the door shut with his hip. He grabs a glass from the drainer by the sink and carefully fills it up.

“You are.”

Steve takes a drink and savours the flavour of fresh orange.

“And you’re actually going to show up this time?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You can hold me against other things as well, if you want,” Tony says, amusement clear in his voice.

“Some days I wonder why I even bother,” Steve says with an exaggerated sigh and hangs up as Tony begins to laugh.

*

Bucky takes him to a new coffee shop that’s opened up four blocks away from where they work. It’s during their lunch hour and a Wednesday which means there aren’t too many people crowding the baristas, but he leaves Bucky to get their drinks since it’s his turn to pay and finds a seat outside in the sunshine. He’s not really concentrating, too busy thinking about the upcoming weekend and why he’s even agreed to see Tony again, while he picks dirt from under his nails.

“Is this seat taken?” someone asks abruptly and Steve glances up, realising it’s a young woman with long black hair. She’s pretty and Steve tries his best not to ogle; he fights down a blush and clears his throat softly.

“No; please help yourself,” he replies with a faint gesture and she smiles.

“Thanks,” she says before promptly sitting down next to him and crossing her long legs, kicking his calf lightly in the process.

“I’m sorry, miss; you must be looking for someone else,” he starts, but then he gets a good look at her face and he knows he recognises it. “Tony?”

“Hey champ. You looking for some company?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth for a few moments, waiting for his brain to catch up.

“What on earth are you wearing? Did you shave?”

Tony pats his chin and grins.

“It’s covered with latex. There’s no way I’d get rid of it. I _did_ shave my legs though. Want to feel?”

Tony lifts one leg, tugging at the hem of his short skirt to keep from revealing too much, and puts his heeled foot in Steve’s lap, which is so inappropriate, Steve feels like he’s having an aneurism. He pushes it away, but he can feel the smoothness underneath the sheer stockings Tony wears and he’s sure his face is about to melt from the heat of his blush.

“What are you doing?” he whispers loudly, eyes darting to the other customers, hoping they’re too busy to pay attention. “Why are you here?”

“I’m on the way to work,” Tony says with a shrug. “I saw you sitting here and thought I’d say hi.”

He crosses his legs again and this time Steve catches a glimpse of suspender holding his stockings up and he’s pretty sure Tony doesn’t ever do anything half-assed.

“Bucky will be back any second. You have to leave.”

“Bucky? I should stay and thank him for introducing me to your penis.”

“ _Tony_.”

His voice is deathly cold, but his palms are sweating as he rubs them against his pants.

“Oh my god,” Tony begins as though struck by a revelation. “You like it. You totally like it.”

“No, Tony. You need to go.”

Tony leans in conspiratorially, elbows on the table, revealing an impressive fake cleavage that Steve tries not to stare at.

“I’m prepared, you know,” he whispers and Steve blinks slowly. “All lubed up and ready to go. You could fuck me in the bathroom _right now_ and send me on my way. No one would ever suspect a thing.”

Steve swallows and his blush renews itself, tingling across his cheeks and giving him entirely away. He meets Tony’s dark stare and thinks about how easy it would be to give in; how he could have Tony pinned against the wall, skirt hitched up and panties pushed down around his knees. He opens his mouth and never gets a chance to speak.

“Hey, Steve; you going to introduce us?” Bucky says from behind and Steve turns towards him guiltily, eyes wide and mouth pinched with tension.

“I should go,” Tony says quickly, standing before Steve can get a word in edgewise. “I’ll see you Friday, Steve.”

Steve watches him disappear down the sidewalk, gait far too comfortable for someone’s first time in high-heels, so he knows he must do it on a regular basis. He blinks as Tony veers off down a side street, and then turns to stare at Bucky. Bucky looks confused, but sets their coffees and muffins down on the table and sits down across from him.

“Who was that? Are you guys going on a date? Is that why you wouldn’t sleep with that hooker? You sly dog! You never even told me!”

Bucky’s talking at a hundred miles per hour and Steve grabs his drink and takes a tentative sip, careful not to burn his tongue. He tries not to think about who Tony’s going to meet and fail spectacularly. Who gets to touch him dressed in expensive lingerie? Who asked Tony to wear that outfit to be fucked in? He bites his tongue and hates that he has no reason to be angry. Tony doesn’t belong to him; they’re not even in a relationship. All Steve has for company is his jealousy and his own right hand.

“C’mon, Steve; who was that?”

“Someone who’s hell-bent on making my life awful,” Steve murmurs and Bucky scoffs quietly.

“But she was good looking.”

“Exactly,” he says, putting his head in his hands and hating everything.

*

Tony texts him with the address to a restaurant early on Friday morning, just as Steve’s on the way out of his front door for work. He doesn’t know how much he trusts Tony’s judgement, because he knows that area isn’t for casual dining, but he slips his phone into his pocket and tries not to think about it.

It’s exactly why Steve’s day feels about a million times longer than normal. He finds his eyes drifting to the clock every half an hour or so, and he truly knows he’s distracted when he ends up shredding a document rather than photocopying it. Thankfully, he’s able to print out another version without any else seeming to notice.

By the time he’s out of the office and on the subway heading home, he feels as though he could power a small city with the amount of unused energy inside him, building up from anticipation. It’s worse that before their first date, he thinks as he unbuttons his work shirt and tries to ignore the sweat stains under the arms. It’s possibly because he’s spent almost three days picturing Tony in heels and stockings and not much else.

He scrubs himself off in the shower, very decidedly not letting his hands wander from their job and tries not to think about whether Tony will be late again or not.

As it turns out, Tony _is_ in fact there on time. Also, he apparently cleans up well.

The restaurant is tucked away in a back alley, somewhere Steve wouldn’t normally go, but when he steps inside, it feels as though he’s in an entirely different place. It’s upscale compared to his usual haunts and he suddenly wonders if he’s underdressed. Before he can even begin to worry, Tony’s there in front of him, grinning as though surprised to see Steve there at all.

“Hey,” he says, eyes bright and mouth wide and Steve feels himself smile in return, unable to resist.

“Hi. Have you been waiting long?”

“For a guy like you? Only my entire life,” he says with a smirk and Steve scoffs and ducks his head.

“I bet that’s what you tell all your clients.”

Tony shoots him a small smile that Steve tells himself doesn’t warm him down to his toes.

“Well, you’re not a client, are you? C’mon, they’ve got a table for us.”

Steve glances at the people milling around the entrance.

“Don’t we have to wait and put our names down?”

“Nah, it’s all good,” he says, grabbing two menus and leading the way; Steve’s pretty sure he’s not allowed to do that, but no one seems to be making an effort to stop him. “I own this place.”

Steve almost stops dead in place; well, he would have if Tony hadn’t been tugging on his elbow, forcing him forward and keeping a server from slamming into his back with two plates of steaming entrees.

“You what?” he asks, but Tony just pulls him along until they reach a small table near the back. There’s a server by their side in seconds and it takes Steve by surprise. Tony doesn’t seem at all bothered by it, as though used to the attention.

“Just a water, please,” he requests and Steve gets his voice to work long enough to order the same. The waiter disappears and Steve finds himself unable to look away from Tony.

“You _own_ this restaurant?”

Tony shrugs and moves his focus to the menu as though he doesn’t already know everything that’s on it.

“My parents did and now I do. It’s a family thing, I guess.”

Steve’s actually surprised Tony would choose to share that with him, but doesn’t say it out loud. He also doesn’t comment on Tony’s use of past tense when referring to his parents.

“It’s a nice place,” he murmurs instead, glancing around and finally getting a good look. It’s fairly small, giving it a cosy feeling that Steve genuinely likes, but the tables are far enough apart that he knows he won’t have to raise his voice to be heard over others speaking. It’s dimly lit, but that’s to be expected, he supposes; the fancier a restaurant, the less they let you see.

“You haven’t even tried the food yet,” Tony argues and Steve shrugs.

“You own the place. I doubt you’d let them serve bad food.”

“Is that fondness I hear? Does it mean I’m getting laid tonight?” Steve nudges his ankle with his foot lightly under the table and Tony fakes a hiss of pain. “I’ll seduce you with the lemon chicken.”

“I was going to choose the steak,” Steve replies, trying his best to hide his amusement.

“No. No one orders a steak before they’re about to have sex.”

“Then it’s lucky I don’t plan to have any in the near future.”

“Steak or sex?”

Steve falls silent when the server stops by with their drinks, the glasses perspiring from the ice inside. Steve casually takes a sip and tries to fight down a blush.

“Are you ready to order, Mr Stark?” the waiter asks and Tony hums quietly in thought.

“I think so. Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” he replies even though he’s not entirely.

“What may I get for you, sir?” the server asks and Steve is about to answer, about to order the steak, when Tony’s foot slides between his legs. He almost bites his tongue off in surprise. Tony must have slipped off his shoe, because there’s nothing but sock and the heat of his skin through it.

“ _Tony_ ,” he growls and Tony just smirks.

“Pretty sure I’m not on the menu, Steve. You can have me for dessert.”

There’s no way he can keep the blush down now, but he stares at Tony for a moment longer, trying his best to challenge him, despite knowing he’ll most likely lose.

“I’ll have the lemon chicken, please,” he says and Tony’s mouth opens for a brief second revealing his shock. He shuts it again with a click of his teeth and nods.

“I’ll have the same,” he says and neither of them look at the server, who makes a hasty retreat. “You’re going to let me seduce you?”

“Are you going to remove your foot from my lap?”

“Depends what your answer to my question is.”

Steve slips his hand down and tickles the arch of Tony’s foot, causing Tony to yelp and bash his knee against the underside of the table. Steve can’t help but laugh because he definitely hadn’t expected that response.

“Ticklish?” he asks and Tony narrows his eyes.

“You’re a cruel man.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“You still haven’t answered by question.” Steve just smiles and takes another drink of his water, leaving Tony to sigh in disappointment. “You’re no fun.”

The silence that falls over them is anything but uncomfortable and Steve takes a moment to gather his wits.

“So, what’s there to know about you? This _is_ a date after all.”

Tony makes a face and laughs.

“I think you know the important stuff.”

“Well, what about the rest? What’s the one food you hate? What music do you like? What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Jesus, it’s like I found you off eHarmony. When was the last time you went on a date, Casanova? You suck at this.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies sarcastically, the remark stinging slightly.

“Hey, no,” Tony jumps in quickly. “You’re making a valiant effort, but you are seriously going to put me to sleep in the next ten minutes if you continue.”

“Alright then; you try.”

Tony opens his mouth to reply and then frowns as though he can’t actually think of anything to say. Steve smiles self-satisfactorily.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Steve teases and Tony smiles as though entirely amused.

“The last time I went on an honest-to-god date was – ” Tony cuts himself off as though thinking and then makes a show of counting on his fingers. “Two years ago?”

Steve lets out a low whistle.

“You’ve got me beat. So why now? Why me of all people?”

Tony takes a sip of water and crunches loudly on an ice cube.

“You’re normal,” he says after a pause and Steve makes a faint noise that’s almost a laugh.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t ask to spank you?”

“No, but I’d let you if you wanted to.”

Steve refused to go there.

“Be serious.”

“I _am_ ,” Tony says as though shocked. “I’d definitely let you spank me.”

“Well, I’m not asking to.”

“Yet.” He shouldn’t even think about it, but Tony bent over his knee with a beaten red ass makes for a beautiful image. “You’re totally picturing it, aren’t you?” Tony says, amusement clear in his eyes. “Are you thinking about using your hand or a riding crop? I’m definitely okay with either.”

Steve would, without a doubt, use his hand; his stinging palm would be nothing compared to Tony’s burning cheeks. He refrains from telling this to Tony, however. He saves it for a rainy day.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he says instead, moving the topic somewhere safer, though he’s not sure if _any_ topic is safe where Tony is concerned.

“I like romance novels, smooth jazz, and long walks on the beach.”

“You aren’t taking this seriously,” Steve complains and Tony throws his hands up as though in defeat.

“I’ll start when you start asking serious questions. Just be yourself, Steve. Talk to me how you did when we first met.”

“I spent the night complaining about everything.”

“And you wooed me into your bed without me even charging you a cent. If that’s not success, I don’t know what is.”

“This restaurant sucks. I hate you,” he lies and the corners of Tony’s mouth curl up.

“So you _do_ have a sense of humour. If there were a bed around, I’d be in it already, you smooth-talker.”

“I doubt my powers are _that_ good.”

Tony shrugs and smiles.

“They’re not bad.”

Tony’s foot nudges against his own and Steve thinks about glaring as he expects it to slide up his leg, but it doesn’t move, just rests next to his as though Tony just wants the contact. Steve leaves his foot where it is, pretending not to notice, and takes a drink of water to hide the small smile he feels growing. Steve sets the glass down and stares at Tony carefully; Tony just cocks his head to one side as though trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

“Do you get any free time in between owning a restaurant, teaching students physics, and dallying in prostitution?”

“You forgot running a charity organisation and maintaining several car shops.”

“You fix up cars?”

Tony shrugs.

“When I can. Mostly old ones; you can’t beat a purring first-gen Mustang. New York doesn’t exactly have the best roads to test those babies out, though, so I get them shipped to Cali to cruise down Route 1.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Steve is slightly stunned. He never knew Tony had that much money to spare. Tony obviously isn’t at all the person he assumed he was. How can one man be so complicated?

“What about the charity?”

Tony waves his hand in dismissal.

“Just something my mother would have liked. It gives a great tax break.”

Steve knows it isn’t that simple. The way Tony’s voice wavers when he mentions his mother says more than anything. Tony Stark has a heart after all.

“You’re something else,” is all Steve can murmur and their eyes meet as though for the first time, and as cliché as it sounds, Steve can’t blink away. There’s a raw honesty in Tony’s eyes and Steve knows he doesn’t just blurt out his whole history to any old person. Steve thinks himself lucky and for the first time since he met Tony, he’s actually glad he agreed to unlock his door and let Tony in. He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by another voice.

“Sir?” their waiter says quietly, and the moment is gone, leaving a low burning disappointment in Steve’s stomach. He doesn’t even know what he planned to say. Stay over? Give up prostituting and I’ll give you as much sex as you need? He exhales slowly through his nose and leans back as a plate is set before him, looking and smelling far too good to be true. He thanks the server quietly and watches Tony nudge his steamed broccoli to one side with his fork.

“Not your favourite?” he asks and Tony looks up as though surprised Steve even noticed. He shakes his head.

“I don’t like the texture.”

Steve beckons with his hand.

“Give it here then.”

Tony makes a disgusted face, but lifts his plate, pressing the edge against the one Steve holds up and carefully pushes the veggies over.

“That’ll make you gassy,” Tony complains and Steve grins and takes a large mouthful of it. “I’m not sleeping in your bed tonight.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you the whole time.”

Tony pauses, knife and fork poised delicately over the chicken breast.

“I’ll take the couch again then.”

Steve can’t help but laugh.

“If I wake up and you’re next to me, I’ll give you the worst Dutch oven of your life.”

Tony actually chokes and Steve reaches across the entire table to pat him on the back.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Tony says after taking a long drink of water and Steve grins, pleased with himself for finally getting the upper hand, even if it did mean having to tell a crass joke. “Jesus, I thought you were serious.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see if I’m telling the truth or not.”

Tony eats another mouthful before swallowing and giving Steve a calculating look.

“So, I _am_ sleeping over then?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just tucks into his own food, letting Tony stare after him. He lets out a small strained noise that Steve ignores and he eventually begins eating again. It’s possibly the best meal Steve has ever had, the mixture of tastes melting together on his tongue, leaving his senses reeling. He ends up clearing the entire plate, even finishing off the boiled potato Tony doesn’t have room for; he sits back feeling full and happy, and lets out a long sigh.

“You better have room for dessert,” Tony says as though daring Steve to argue. “They make a mean chocolate mousse here.”

Steve smiles and pats his stomach.

“Always room for dessert.”

*

Tony follows him home. He doesn’t actually know where Tony lives and at first he thinks it’s a coincidence that Tony has followed him so far without stopping to say goodnight and vanishing in the opposite direction. However, he realises his mistake when Tony steps into the elevator with him, hands in his pockets as he stares up at the numbers changing above the door. The walk down the hallway seems to go on forever, but Tony never says a word, even as Steve unlocks his door and props it open with his foot.

“I had a good time tonight,” Steve says, but Tony’s not even looking, too busy peering through the gap into his apartment as though expecting it to have changed in the past two weeks. “I’m up here, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes dart up to his face and Steve knows there’s a plot formulating in his head; he can tell in the way Tony tilts his head and softens his expression. Steve falls for it hook, line, and sinker, dipping down and brushing his lips over Tony’s cool mouth. He really does only mean for it to be a gentle kiss goodnight, but then he tastes Tony under the lingering chocolate and he remembers what it was like to have Tony beneath him.

Tony makes a small noise as though he doesn’t mind one bit and leans into the palm Steve slides along his jaw. His mouth opens at the insistence of Tony’s tongue, and he knows he doesn’t stand a chance anymore. He kicks the door open fully and drags Tony inside, letting it slam behind them before pushing Tony up against it as he slide the deadbolt into place with a fumbling hand. Tony’s fingers trace over his ribs through his shirt, digging in just hard enough for it to drive Steve slightly insane and Steve thinks about grabbing his wrists and pinning his hands over his head; however, Tony distracts him when he tips his head to one side and Steve’s able to trail kisses down his throat.

“We need to – ” Steve begins, fully intent on moving things to the bedroom, but Tony holds tight and shakes his head.

“No we don’t,” he says, voice just a little unsteady. “C’mon. Right here, Steve.”

Steve has a perfectly decent bed for them to use, but Tony clings to his shirt and all attempts Steve makes to argue are silenced when Tony kisses him quiet. He does the only thing he can and kisses back, hands falling to Tony’s hips, pulling them flush together. Tony rolls against him, letting him feel every square inch of his body and Steve thinks seriously about ripping Tony’s clothes straight off of him. However, instead, he takes the opportunity to kick Tony’s feet apart so that he can slide a thigh between his legs. The noise Tony lets out is breathless and wanton and Steve’s never been prouder of himself. He bucks against him, feeling the heat beneath expensive slacks, and Tony’s hands tug and pull at his belt, opening it with lethal efficiency.

“I thought you wanted to get fucked,” Steve murmurs and Tony whines feebly, fingers already unfastening and unzipping.

“I’m happy with anything right now.”

He grinds forward against Steve as though all he wants is to get off, and that’s perfectly fine with him, as long as he gets to watch Tony lose it. Tony’s hands wriggle down the back of his slacks, sliding beneath his underwear so that his fingers dig into Steve’s skin when he squeezes tightly.

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony grunts and Steve feels like a teenager again, secretly fumbling in a room at some party, and he’s not at all worried about the mess he’s making, just wants to feel Tony come against him as though he doesn’t know how to stop himself from letting go. Tony doesn’t try to free Steve’s cock, but his undone pants eases the pressure, and Steve is more than happy to rub against him, Tony’s hands tugging him closer with every slide of their bodies. Tony’s palms are warm and clammy against his skin, but they never slip or lose grip; Tony digs his nails in when Steve hooks a hand behind his knee and hitches his leg up for a better angle, breathing against his neck like he can’t get enough air.

He ruts into the line of Tony’s hip, his clothes rubbing tantalisingly over his cock and there’s no way he’s going to last long. Thankfully, Tony seems just as gone, as he uses the door behind to push harder against Steve’s body, rocking forwards and down repeatedly, making small sounds with every grind.

“Best. Date. Night. Ever,” Tony huffs out between gasps and Steve feels Tony’s thigh tense beneath his hand as he curls his leg higher around Steve’s waist. There’s no way Tony should have enough energy to talk, let alone joke. Steve ups the ante by lifting Tony slightly off the ground; the noise Tony lets out is a mix between a laugh, a yelp of surprise, and a low groan of pleasure. “How are you so strong?” he whines before adding, “Never mind, I don’t care. Just don’t ever stop.”

Steve doesn’t plan to. He adjusts his grip and picks up the pace, pressing into all the spaces between them, pinning Tony between his body and the door. Apparently, Tony likes the feeling a lot, because he drops his head to Steve’s shoulder and bites down, muffling the cry he lets out. He shudders violently against him and then sags in exhaustion; Steve realises belatedly that he’s just made Tony come in his pants like a horny sixteen year old.

Steve huffs a laugh against the soft skin just under Tony’s ear and Tony growls in response. One of his hands shifts and suddenly there’s a finger nudging dry against Steve’s entrance and he comes with an unexpected jolt, a surprised moan escaping him before he can stop it. It blindsides him, leaving him trying to figure out which way is up and how he’s even still standing, let alone holding Tony, who he can practically feel radiating smugness.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Steve?” Tony teases, but he’s out of breath and hanging bonelessly in Steve’s grip which means his joke isn’t as effective.

Carefully, Steve lowers Tony back to the ground and Tony slides a hand behind his head and kisses him softly.

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t have the steak?” Tony whispers against his mouth, chuckling quietly, and Steve promptly shuts him up.

*

Tony ends up staying the night, hogging the bed, and burning Steve half to death with his ridiculous body heat, but Steve only protests briefly, far too tired to do anything else. He wakes in the morning when Tony’s crawling out from under the sheets, complaining about early morning meetings on a Saturday and Steve doesn’t know which job he’s even referring to. He rolls over, listening to Tony taking over his shower down the hallway, and falls back asleep to an off-key rendition of _Ruby Tuesday_.

He later finds that the background of his phone has been changed to a picture of Tony wearing nothing but a grin and there’s a new calendar date set for Sunday afternoon, the location of which is listed as _in Tony’s pants_.

*

Sunday morning, Steve almost kills himself when he’s washing his hair and the bathroom door bangs open, leaving him scrambling for the shower curtain, which he manages to rip off the rungs before it tangles in a heap over him and he falls painfully onto the floor. After Tony stops laughing, he actually helps free him from the plastic nightmare because Steve can’t see a thing with shampoo in his eyes.

“I made an appointment,” is Tony’s only excuse and once Steve’s soap-free, dry, and dressed again, he temporarily bans Tony from the apartment, forcing him to go and buy brunch for the both of them. Tony’s offering of pancakes and bacon takes some of the sting out of it, but Steve’s knees still throb with purpled bruises.

The next day he receives a package from Tony and when he opens it up, he finds it’s a new shower curtain personalised with hundreds of little _I ♥ TONY_ s all over it. He refuses to put it up and instead buys one with pleasant blue pinstripes. Tony calls him boring, but until Tony starts paying his share of the rent for stealing Steve’s bed and personal space, he doesn’t get a say in decorations. When he tells Tony this, he just smiles as though he knows something Steve doesn’t and politely doesn’t mention the fact that Steve fails to throw the other curtain away.

*

The third time Steve walks into the livingroom and finds Tony sitting on his couch as though he belongs there, he gives up complaining, though it still makes him jump every time.

“You need to remember the deadbolt,” Tony says without looking away from the television and Steve takes a moment to mentally run through places where he could hide the body and get away with it. “Sometimes I think you leave it unlocked just for me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Steve replies, heading to the kitchen to make them both coffee because Tony looks about as tired as Steve feels.

“Just one sugar,” Tony calls out, voice muffled as though he’s face down against the cushions and Steve wouldn’t put it past him. “I’m trying to watch my figure.”

Steve puts in two anyway because nothing about Tony needs changing.

*

Tony breaks in unannounced when Steve’s already in bed, lying face down with the sheets tangled down around his feet because it’s far too hot in his apartment for anything else. He can’t keep his window open because of the noise of the traffic, but he has a small fan set up in the corner of the room, humming quietly and blowing cool air over him. It’s because of the white noise that he doesn’t hear Tony sneak in until fingers skim across his naked back and he almost elbows Tony in the face out of shock.

“Jesus, Tony,” he complains even while Tony crawls onto the mattress and trails kisses down the back of his neck. “A little warning next time.”

Tony mumbles against his skin, his mouth hot and lazy and Steve can hardly handle the heat, but he doesn’t try to push him away.

“Where have you been?” he asks, letting Tony roll him over onto his back. Tony smells like second-hand smoke and rich cologne and for some reason he’s wearing a tux that does strange things to Steve’s stomach.

“Out,” Tony says before he leans down and kisses him, tasting of expensive champagne and something heady. Steve pushes at his shoulder, pulling his mouth away and grimaces.

“What is that?”

Tony sits back and smacks his lips lightly.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Oops.”

The weight over Steve disappears as Tony slides from the bed and vanishes through the doorway. Steve hears the water running in the bathroom for a few minutes before it shuts off and the bedroom door swings open again.

“That’s better,” Tony murmurs, crawling back over Steve and sitting on his hips. When he kisses Steve this time, he tastes minty and clean and Steve has no qualms about deepening it with a flick of his tongue.

“What was that?” Steve asks as Tony begins shrugging out of his jacket and shirt, his skin free for Steve to run his palms over. Tony drags Steve’s hands down to the fastening of his pants and Steve knows he’s trying to distract him from talking, but it still works. Tony’s already hard when he slips a hand into his underwear and he moans against Steve’s mouth, grinding forward into his palm.

“I want you to fuck me, Steve,” Tony whispers and Steve’s certain he can manage that. He rolls them over, pinning Tony to the sheets while he jerks him off and Tony tosses his head back against a pillow and hisses through his teeth. “No. C’mon, just do it.”

Steve has learned over the past few weeks that Tony is impatient, but he’s never seen him like this.

“Where’s the fire?” Steve mumbles, hand slowing and drawing out the pleasure. Tony knees him in the side firmly and glares.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been hard? Just do me this one favour and fuck me. Right. Now.”

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice. He pulls Tony’s pants and underwear off along with his own boxers, before reaching over for a condom and lube.

“I’m already slicked up,” Tony says, batting the lube away and Steve figures he’s readied himself in the bathroom again. It’s a terrible habit he’s yet to break him of. One day he wants to open him up himself with slow fingers and watch Tony go mad with pent up arousal, but until that day, he has to live with Tony’s Boy Scout level of preparedness.

He rolls the condom on and uses a little lube to make things as smooth as possible before grabbing Tony’s hips and dragging him down. Tony moans at the manhandling and spreads his legs as though he’s been trained; it just makes it easier for Steve to line himself up with Tony’s entrance and push forwards. What he doesn’t expect is just how loose Tony is. It definitely isn’t just from fingers and then he puts two and two together.

“Oh my god,” he complains, even as he slides inside. “That taste in your mouth was come, wasn’t it? Did you just get back from working with a client?”

Tony’s legs wrap around Steve’s waist, pulling him in deeper until he’s as far in as he can get.

“He was useless, Steve. He couldn’t even get me off.”

“He probably didn’t care. Who pays to make a whore come?”

“ _You_ would,” Tony retorts, wriggling underneath him.

“It’s common courtesy,” Steve says, slowly drawing out until only the head of his cock is inside Tony. “But I wouldn’t hire a whore in the first place.”

He slams back inside before Tony can think up a witty response and Tony clings to the covers and lets out a strangled noise. Steve doesn’t relent; keeps drawing back and sliding in and Tony seems to love it because he shuts his eyes and lets Steve has his way with him.

“Luckily, they seem to throw themselves at you for free.”

Steve ducks his head and sucks a bruise onto Tony’s neck, marking him just in case he decides to throw himself at anyone else. He’ll make sure they know Tony’s spoken for.

“How long have you been waiting to get fucked properly?”

Tony pants and bucks up into his thrusts.

“All fucking night. I thought about getting myself off in a bathroom at the gala my client took me to, but why should I do that when I have a perfectly good boy toy waiting for me at home?”

Steve’s stomach flips when Tony calls the apartment “home” and he quickens the pace. With a hand behind Tony’s thigh, he pushes it back until Tony is completely spread open and at his mercy, head tossing from side to side.

“Please, Steve,” he pleads and before Steve can even slide a hand between them, Tony comes, his whole body shaking as he finally finds release. Muscles tighten around him and Steve feels sweat building up between his shoulders from the heat, but what sets him off is the way Tony stares up at him reverently, as though the only thing he knows is Steve.

Steve hides his face in the crook of Tony’s shoulder and comes with a long moan, his body aching with the force, arms shaking from the effort of holding himself up. He drops down onto Tony after a few moments pass and Tony grunts, but doesn’t try to push him off.

“Better?” he asks as he tries to slow his breathing and Tony’s hands come up to rub along the length of his back.

“Remind me to send your dick a thank you card.”

Steve hates Tony’s sense of humour but laughs anyway, finally pulling out of him as he rolls over into the open space of bed. He ties and throws the condom away, while Tony reaches across the nightstand for a tissue to clean himself off with.

“Sorry for y’know ... earlier,” Tony murmurs. “I wouldn’t have done that to you on purpose.”

Steve turns his head to look at him, but Tony just stares at the ceiling, one hand idly rubbing his own stomach.

“I know,” he says quietly. “But if you do that again, you’re definitely not getting any for a week.”

Tony pouts and curls onto his side, facing Steve.

“Spoilsport.”

Steve tangles their legs together because it’s the only part of him not overheating, and he eventually falls asleep to the sound of Tony’s deep breathing.

*

“You actually used the deadbolt?” comes Tony’s voice through the door, followed by light knocking. “You can’t keep me out forever.”

“I can try,” Steve says, even as he gets up and goes to let him in, peering through the peephole and only seeing the top of Tony’s head as though he’s resting his chin on his collarbone. The hang of his shoulders screams exhaustion and Steve opens the door without hesitating. The first thing he notices is Tony’s rumpled appearance as though he got dressed in a hurry. The second thing is the blood dripping down onto Tony’s shirt.

“Tony?” he asks, panic rolling through him, spreading like ice through his veins. “Tony, what happened?”

Tony finally raises his head, revealing a bloodied face and Steve grabs his arm and tugs him inside.

“Sorry. It looks worse than it is. I was going to go home,” Tony says, letting Steve guide him into the bathroom. “You were closer.”

“Don’t be stupid, Tony. You’re always welcome here.”

Tony grins and blood drips into his mouth, turning his teeth pink.

“I will definitely use that against you,” he teases, and Steve’s just glad that he’s still got his awful sense of humour because he’d be worried if he didn’t.

He drops the lid of the toilet down and tries to force Tony to sit, but Tony hops up onto the countertop beside the sink instead, legs swinging, gently, banging into the wooden cupboard doors below. Steve grabs a face cloth and runs it under the faucet before wringing it out, leaving it cold and damp. Carefully, with one hand gripping Tony’s chin, he begins wiping blood off, keeping an eye out for the source, though he’s pretty sure it’s somewhere on Tony’s nose because he winces every time Steve goes near it.

Tony sucks the blood off his bottom lip and picks at the broken skin of his knuckles that Steve finally notices. After a few more rinses of the cloth, Tony’s face returns to its normal tanned shade of skin, but the heady metallic scent of blood hangs in the air. Steve tosses the cloth into the trash, knowing it’s a lost cause, and washes his hands.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks, lightly tracing his finger over the bridge of Tony’s nose where there’s a small cut. Tony bats his hand away and grimaces.

“The asshole was wearing his wedding ring.”

“You got in a few punches of your own?” Steve asks, nodding his head in the direction of Tony’s hands and Tony smirks, his mouth less gruesome now that the blood isn’t there.

“No one gets to hit me without permission.”

“You’d let people hit you if they asked?”

“No, only certain people. I’d let _you_ hit me.”

“I would never hit you.”

“And that’s exactly why I’d give you permission,” Tony says with a grin and Steve lets out a tired sigh.

“Mind your head,” he murmurs as he opens the medicine cabinet by Tony’s ear and rummages around for a small butterfly bandage. Tony stares at him as though he has something on his face, but Steve ignores him, carefully peeling off the wrapper before gently sticking it across Tony’s nose. Tony scrunches his face up, wriggling the band-aid, but it holds fast and Steve thinks it a job well done. He smoothes one edge down just to be sure and drags his thumb softly over the light bruise under Tony’s left eye.

“Can you kiss it better?”

Steve tries to hide his smile, but Tony’s fingers come up to his mouth, tracing the curve of amusement and Steve kisses his fingertips before nudging them away, leaning in to drop another kiss atop the butterfly bandage.

“Better?” he asks and Tony nods.

“Much.”

“C’mon, let’s fix your hands up.”

He tugs Tony off the countertop, holding his hips until Tony gets his feet under him and then leads him through to the kitchen, where he pulls out a chair for him.

“Sit,” Steve orders and Tony does as he’s told, slinking down onto the seat without a word of protest. “Hands out on the table.”

“Ooh,” Tony croons, “are you going to whack my knuckles with a ruler?”

“You must have some sort of fetish,” Steve replies, opening the freezer door and pulling out a bag of peas. When he turns around Tony is grinning at him, but his hands are out in front of him, just as Steve ordered.

“I think it’s you.”

Steve takes the seat next to him and gently lays the frozen packet over purpled knuckles. Tony hisses, but Steve can’t figure out if it’s from the cold or pain.

“I’ll be sure to exploit it then.”

The peas crunch as Tony shifts his fingers and Steve lessens the pressure, not wanting to hurt him.

“I knew I could count on you.”

An easy silence falls between them, but Steve’s mind works overtime. There’s no way he can let Tony go back to his job after something like this, but he knows Tony will fight him tooth and nail the entire time and will probably end up getting his own way.

“Will you finally quit?” he ask quietly, watching Tony’s face to gauge his reaction. Tony meets his gaze and lifts his eyebrows.

“What? No. To be honest I’m surprised I haven’t had a bad experience sooner. The system isn’t foolproof, you know. It can’t predict the future; can only make suggestions based on the past.”

“How can you say that and sound so blasé? This is a matter of your safety, Tony.”

“Every job has risks, Steve; even yours. The shredder could catch your tie and strangle you. Maybe you’ll end up jumping out of one of the windows when you realise what a dull, dead end job you have. Day in and day out of doing the same boring shit.”

Steve glares at him, anger flaring.

“I happen to actually enjoy my work.”

“So do I! I don’t need another person in my life judging me for my job. Escorting doesn’t define the sort of person I am, Steve. I _want_ to do it. We’ve been through all this before. Why won’t you let it go?”

“What is this?” Steve asks gesturing between them with his free hand. “If this is a relationship, I can’t do it knowing you’re off with other people when we’re apart.

“Why do you get to decide what I can or can’t do? Last time I checked, I wasn’t your property.”

“Is this the end then? Are we calling it quits?”

Tony shrugs as though he doesn’t care, but there’s something in his eyes that looks a lot like hurt.

“I don’t see why you won’t let me work.”

“Because I don’t want anyone else touching you, Tony!” Steve yells, slamming his palm down on the tabletop and listening to the wood rattle. Tony blinks and seems to deflate right there in the chair, the silence drawing out until Tony clears his throat.

“What?”

“If we’re together, you’re mine and I refuse to share. The only sex you’ll be having is with _me_ and the only person’s name you’ll be calling out when you come is _mine_.”

Apparently, it takes Tony’s brain a few seconds to catch up, because his mouth opens and closes wordlessly, and a dark blush spreads across his face, almost hiding the bruises. For a second, Steve thinks it’s anger and he sits back, hoping Tony won’t punch him for being so blunt. However, when Tony lunges, there’s nowhere for him to go and he sits there trapped, barely taking in the _thwack_ as the bag of peas hits the floor by their feet, before Tony’s lips meet his own.

There’s a lingering tang of blood when Tony kisses him, his mouth wet and open, and there are a million things wrong with the situation, but none that Steve would change. He tries to be mindful of Tony’s sore face, but Tony doesn’t seem to care at all, doesn’t hold back as he bites at Steve’s bottom lip and tangles his fingers into his hair.

“ _Steve_ ,” he whispers as they break for air, sharing the same breath, and Steve kisses him again, just so it won’t break him into pieces when Tony finally admits that he’s not willing to change his ways. Tony’s tongue is soft and everywhere at once, stealing all rational thought from Steve’s mind, but he doesn’t care, not when Tony kisses back like he means it.

He pulls Tony forward, forcing him into Steve’s lap and he goes pliant as though there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. He winds his arms around Steve’s neck and clings like he never wants to let go. Steve kisses him until he can’t stand the burn in his lungs any longer and then breaks for air.

“Please, Tony,” he pleads and Tony presses his face against Steve’s throat, letting him feet the lump of the band-aid. He draws in a shuddering breath and tightens his grip around Steve.

“I can’t promise anything,” he says quietly and Steve smoothes his hands up and down Tony’s back. It’s the answer he’s been expecting, but it doesn’t make it any easier. He sighs softly and drops his chin to Tony’s shoulder. He doesn’t reply, not trusting himself not to start another futile argument and they stay tucked together until Steve’s legs go to sleep and Tony’s stomach begins rumbling.

In the end, he cooks them both pasta and doesn’t even complain when Tony asks to spend the night.

*

“I hate you,” Tony says, slumping onto the couch beside him, sounding miserable in a way only Tony can.

“What have I done this time?”

“I couldn’t do it,” he says quietly and Steve finally turns his attention away from the television, gaze lingering on Tony, who rests his chin on his chest and doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Couldn’t do what?”

“I couldn’t sleep with my client and it’s all your fault.”

Steve tilts his head in curiosity.

“How come?”

Tony leans sideways against him, rolling until he’s halfway in Steve’s lap, sprawled out like a sleepy child.

“All I could see was your big, stupid head. I had to take my little blue buddy, which I _never_ have to do, by the way, and even then I couldn’t go through with it, so then I had the worst erection ever and I hate you.”

He mashes his face into Steve’s shirt and Steve feels every breath he takes, the air warm and muggy through thin cotton.

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” Steve says quietly and Tony grumbles and looks up at him, hair askew.

“You’ve ruined me. Why do you even exist?”

“To make your life miserable.”

His hands slip under the hem of Tony’s shirt and he can’t help but grin.

“You look way too happy for someone who’s just ended another man’s career,” Tony pouts and hope flairs inside of Steve.

“Luckily, you’ve got a million others to fall back on. Physicist, mechanic, entrepreneur – take your pick. And if you ever need sex, you know where to find me.”

“You’ve got some making up to do,” Tony complains. “I don’t think you realise how bad a case of blue balls I had.”

“Would you like me to check and make sure they’re the right colour now?”

Tony’s expression of annoyance wavers as though he’s trying not to smile and Steve counts it as a victory.

“I think it definitely requires a hands-on examination,” Tony says and Steve spreads him out across the couch and does exactly that.

*

It’s after Tony stays over eight nights in a row that Steve finally cracks and confronts him.

“Not that I don’t want you here or anything, but what is wrong with your own bed, in your own house?”

Tony looks up from where he’s stealing a handful of M&Ms from Steve’s secret stash of candy and blinks slowly.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Then why don’t you ever stay there?”

Tony munches quietly, sliding the packet back into the back of the cupboard, and moves to stand opposite Steve.

“I prefer taking up all of your space,” Tony jokes and Steve knows he’s deflecting. Steve folds his arms and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Let’s do dinner there Saturday night then. I’ll bring everything we need.”

Tony makes a face as though he’s about to argue, but after a firm glare, his shoulders slump and he gives in.

“Fine. I’ll write the address down for you.”

He stuffs the rest of the M&Ms into his mouth and leaves Steve standing alone in the kitchen.

*

Steve has to use his phone to locate Tony’s house when Saturday night eventually rolls around. He finds himself standing outside a mansion and double checks that he’s actually got the right place. He stands outside the gate and feels his whole body sag. He already knows why Tony asks to stay so many times; he would hate to be in place so huge with only himself to keep him company.

There’s a faint buzz to his right and a voice suddenly comes out of the speaker next to the lock keypad.

“Mr Rogers?”

Steve blinks and looks for the camera he knows must be above him somewhere. He looks at the lens as he speaks.

“Is Tony here?”

“He’s just dressing, sir. Please come through.”

The gate swings open by itself and Steve doesn’t look back. The front door opens before he can even knock and an older gentleman ushers him through with a wave of his hand.

“Mr Stark will be down shortly, sir,” says the man and Steve realises it’s the same one from the speaker. “He said you had a habit of being on time. Mr Stark seems to think it’s a character flaw.”

Steve likes this guy already.

“Steve,” he says holding out his hand and the older man takes it firmly.

“Edwin Jarvis. Friend and butler to the Stark family. It’s a pleasure to meet you finally.”

“Tony’s mentioned me?”

“He never really stops, sir.”

That puts a stupid grin on Steve’s face and it’s precisely the moment Tony strolls through a door on the left, looking freshly showered.

“What’s that look for?” he asks Steve, but Steve just shakes his head and turns away. “You brought food?”

Steve holds up the grocery bag he has in one hand.

“Pork chops and veggies. No broccoli. Sound good?”

“Sound perfect,” Tony says with a grin. “How long do you think it’ll take you, Jarvis?” he asks, turning towards him and Steve frowns.

“ _We’re_ cooking it, Tony. I thought it would be fun.”

Tony looks aghast.

“ _Fun_?”

“Jarvis, which way is the kitchen?” Steve says, ignoring Tony’s metaphorical foot-stomping.

“On the right, sir; you can’t miss it.”

He grips Tony’s elbow with his free hand and heads in that direction, pulling Tony behind like a scalded child. The kitchen turns out to be about the size of Steve’s whole apartment.

“Are you kidding me?” he says and Tony pulls free and grabs the bag from him, dumping the contents out onto the countertop. “Is it just you and Jarvis living here?”

Tony shrugs.

“I suppose. I keep thinking about selling it, but – ” he trails off as though it’s not a thought he wants to continue and Steve thinks back to the past tense used when Tony was talking about his parents.

“After my mom died," Steve explains quietly, "my dad kept saying he would sell the house, but he never did. Too many memories in there to give it all away. Of course, I couldn’t keep it after he passed away; too much upkeep and the property tax was killing me. I like to think someone else is making that house their home now."

Tony doesn’t look up from the packet of green beans he’s holding, but Steve knows he heard everything from the way his shoulders tense.

“They both died in a car accident,” he eventually says. “I was nineteen.”

“God, Tony,” Steve says and he knows he should do anything but pity him, but he can’t help it. “Were you there with them? Is that how you got the scar?” He gestures towards Tony’s chest and Tony looks startled and puts one hand over where they both know the mark is.

“No, that was me being young and dumb. I was playing with fire when I shouldn’t have been and it bit me in the ass. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that.”

Steve steps forward to grab the carrots because he’s sure the last thing Tony needs is to draw the conversation out, but Tony turns towards him as though expecting comfort and Steve can’t deny him. He draws Tony close and presses a soft kiss to his brow.

“When was the last time you peeled something?” he breathes against Tony’s hair and Tony shoves him lightly.

“Pretty sure I peeled you out of your clothes the other night.”

This time it’s Steve’s turn to shove Tony.

“Do you even know where the peeler is?”

Tony makes a sarcastic face in response, but it still takes him three attempts at opening drawers to locate it. Steve barely contains his laughter and Tony grabs the carrots and tears into the bag, beginning to peel them with speed rather than skill. Steve leans down and kisses Tony on the jaw and Tony makes a fake noise of annoyance, trying to pull away. There’s a swelling of affection inside of Steve and he’s glad that Tony isn’t looking to see yet another goofy expression on his face.

He preheats the oven, cuts the ends off the beans, and fills two pans with water in the time it takes Tony to peel and slice two carrots. Tony blinks at him when he finally looks up and sees the progress being made around him, before letting out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“You want something to drink? There’s a nice bottle of red I’ve been waiting to open. I’m good at popping corks.”

He disappears before Steve can answer and when he returns he’s holding two bottles.

“I couldn’t decide between these. What do you think?”

Steve doesn’t know anything about wine, so he taps the bottle on the right just because the label looks nicer.

“Good choice,” Tony replies with a nod and then rustles around in the drawers again as though searching for a corkscrew. After a moment of Tony fussing with the bottle, trying to get it open, he sets a glass beside Steve and touches his arm gently.

“Let it air for a bit,” he says and Steve nods, trusting his judgment without argue.

By the time Steve puts the chops in the oven, Tony has given up all pretence of helping and sits on the counter sipping his own wine and stealing bits of uncooked carrot.

“You’re right,” he begins around a mouthful. “This _is_ fun.”

He smirks when Steve raises an eyebrow at him.

“Apparently, the only way to get things done is to put you to one side and give you something to play with.”

“I can see a toy I definitely wouldn’t mind playing with,” Tony replies with a leer and Steve wonders if his body will ever get tired of the entendres. His resolve lasts all of three seconds, the time it takes for Tony to open his legs and beckon with one finger.

Steve ends up sucking him off right there on the countertop and Tony jokes about their food catching on fire, even as he’s writing under Steve’s mouth, but when Steve opens the oven a while later, as Tony gasps for air, entirely spent, the pork is cooked to perfection.

By the time everything is done and they’re sitting at the kitchen table, Tony looks ready to fall asleep and it’s only at the first bite of food that his eyes widen and face lights up.

“That’s pretty good,” he says and Steve doesn’t even complain about being underappreciated. “I’ll let you cook for me more often.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Steve replies sarcastically and Tony smiles. He’s quiet for a long while, the only noise between them, the sound of their knives and forks against the plates, but then Tony looks up and for just a second Steve sees hesitation in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, however, Steve beats him to it.

“Want to come back to mine tonight?” he asks and Tony blinks then slowly smiles.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

*

Steve doesn’t even realise Tony has moved in until most of the closet is filled with Tony’s clothes and anytime Steve buys broccoli, it vanishes suspiciously a day or so later before he can even cook it. What seals the deal is when the second week of the month comes and passes without him receiving a notice to pay the rent. He sends a quick email to the management of his apartment building asking for another copy to be sent out, however, he gets a curious response instead.

> _Dear Mr Rogers,_

> _Our records indicate that you have already sent payment for this month’s rent._

> _Thank you for choosing Shield Apartments as your place of residence._

> _Sincerely,_

> _Management._

Steve blinks and glances across the room where Tony’s sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with a circuit board that he’s been working on all week. Tony apparently feels his gaze because he looks up and meets Steve’s eyes.

“What?” he asks and Steve just shakes his head and deletes the email.

“Nothing,” he says, but smiles to himself knowingly.

Two days later the atrocious _I ♥ Tony_ shower curtain shows up in the bathroom and Steve yells through the wall to where he knows Tony is still curled up in bed, dozing lightly.

“What did you do to my curtain, Tony?”

There’s a long pause and then the bathroom door pops open and Steve peers around the curtain to find Tony grinning at him lazily. He yawns and shrugs his shirt off as though about to join Steve in the shower.

“You said I could redecorate when I started paying rent.”

Steve’s mouth open and closes a few times before he gives up and tugs the curtain back into place. Tony laughs and steps in behind Steve a few moments later, entirely naked. He kisses Steve’s shoulder and winds his arms around his waist.

“Don’t be ashamed of your love, Steve,” he teases and Steve smacks him lightly on the thigh without turning around.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” he retorts and Tony laughs against his skin, holding him tighter.


End file.
